I am back up in Milwaukee, assessing some public schools in the Greater Milwaukee Area. Now, anytime I am doing assessments, I put some miles on my feet. This time was no different. By the time I reached Friday of my first week, I had walked over 20 miles that week. My neuropathy keeps me from feeling my legs from my knees down, but I was feeling my feet. As we said in the Infantry, “My dawgs were barkin’!“
So when I got a text from my boss asking me if I would be able to assess a stadium that evening, I didn’t want to. My feet and knees hurt, I was tired and I was hungry. Then there was an incident last week involving Milwaukee Lutheran High School, less than a mile from where I’ve been conducting assessments. Sore, tired, hungry and not wanting to get shot at, I gathered up my courage and told my boss, “Sure!” That’s how I roll. I was like Pyle in Full Metal Jacket, “I am. In a world. Of shit!”
I asked if I would be provided a ballistic vest, and was told, “No.” I asked if I was being provided with life insurance and was told, “Aren’t you just precious?” Of course, it was a rivalry game during Homecoming, and it was the night of the Harvest Moon. Things just kept getting better and better.
I finished assessing my last elementary school around 4:00pm, and drove home to grab a quick dinner. I headed out to the stadium around 5:30pm. I had put the stadium assessment form on my iPad, so it got that, and my camera, out and got down to some serious assessing. By 6:00pm, the teams arrived. The home team arrived first, then the visitors. Most of the people I met were busy, but friendly and helpful.
The district made the decision after COVID to only allow students of the participating schools to get into the games. They did not accept cash at the ticket gate. You had to purchase the tickets online, then have a student ID to get in. Younger students could only get in with an adult, and they kept the home team supporters separated from the visiting team supporters. I was rather surprised, because the school was taking a very significant financial hit by their ticket policies, but they were more interested in the safety of everyone. Adults could get in, of course. We’re adults, and we don’t make bad judgements and do stupid things. Bah-ha-ha-ha! But seriously…
The crowd was pretty good. It was a beautiful night, it was Homecoming and a rivalry game. Through the first three quarters, the four School Resource Officers (SROs), the four security guards, and the numerous Event Staff didn’t have any issues. Then the fourth quarter shenanigans began.
The home team was getting spanked by the visitors, and I kept overhearing radio calls of near fights at the visitor stands. The staff were quick to respond and we were able to get through the game with no teen angsty stuff overflowing. I stepped out into the parking lot to see how they would manage the traffic flow away from the stadium.
Years of being a middle school assistant principal have helped me develop some finely tuned antenna for trouble. I heard a burst of noise from the east side of the stadium, and thought, “Here we go!” I then saw a crowd around my parked RAV4 and my barking dawgs were forgotten as I was about to go bust some heads. I’ll be damned if I’m letting some teenage hotheads damage my baby.
I was diverted by a minor scuffle that was being handled by school staff. Some teens in black had been throwing punches at a single, smaller boy who was so frustrated he was crying. He was in the clutches of a female staff member who was protecting him from himself. Other staff members were herding the black-clad teens away. I’m sure they were fine, upstanding young men who were just trying to wish the young man a good evening…
I turned back toward my RAV4 and saw two of the SROs taking a young man away in handcuffs. I saw two other SROs in a scuffle with a black-clad teen, right in front of my car. A person reached in and tried to pull him away from the officers, but they weren’t having any of that. As I watched, something fell off of the teen, and a younger teen swooped in and scooped it up. It looked like a black bandana. I thought, “Nah, you don’t get to come in and scoop up evidence.” Something else fell to the ground, one of the body cams off of one of the officers. The younger teen started to swoop in again and I stepped in front of him. He jumped up and bristled, and I nearly burst out laughing at how quickly he turned docile. I’m 6’1″, 325lbs, and at that point the irritation of having to deal with this foolishness at the end of a long day was clearly on my face, which ain’t that pretty to begin with. He took off, and he wasn’t slow about it at all.
I turned and tried to pick the body cam off the ground, but decided that having two cops and a suspect land on top of me was not a dignified way to end my day, so I stepped back and just kept an eye out for any other jackals. They were trying hard not to overly man-handle the suspect, which made for a longer struggle, but the finally got the cuffs on him, to which he plaintively asked, “Why you cuffin’ me?”
By the time it was done, there were 5 police cars and a couple of Sheriff’s Deputies on hand to make sure everyone else got out incident-free. Turns out the guys in black were from another high school. They couldn’t get into the game, so they waited on their target to come out of the stadium. I learned that night that, apparently, no one uses the term “gang” anymore, as it’s too negative.
Well, Karen, the word “gang” is supposed to be negative, as it’s a group of people involved in criminal behavior. Now I’m supposed to care that I’m using a negative word to describe a negative group of guys who lied in wait to jump an unsuspecting person leaving a high school football game? Nope. A whole lotta nope. This had “gang” all over it. Colors, criminal conduct. Gangs. There, I said it, and I’m-a not takin’ it back, ya hear?
A young man had the right idea. He was wearing a sweatshirt that read, “Anti-Social Social Club.” A gang by any other name…
At least I got back to my house, un-shot, and got to put my dawgs up. Their barkin’ was irritating me.
Meditations of a Bald, Fat Guy 